


Sorrow and Sighs and Mickle Care

by Vitreous_Humor



Series: Set Fire to Our Bed [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Biting, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Caning, Crying, Demon Summoning, Emotional Hurt, Face Slapping, Hell is Not Nice, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Insecurity, M/M, Other, Sadist Aziraphale, Self-Destructive Tendancies, Spanking, Strapping, Top Crowley (Good Omens), bad kink, genital design and creation, people are not presents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:29:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21668989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vitreous_Humor/pseuds/Vitreous_Humor
Summary: It wasn't fair, he thought. It wasn't fair that Aziraphale could give him everything he wanted, everything he had hoped and dreamed of and longed for for six thousand years and that Crowley couldn't do the same.No, not couldn't.Was refused.And Satan, did Crowley hate being refused.---Aziraphale's a sadist, Crowley's not a masochist, and Crowley comes up with possibly the worst solution for this issue.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Set Fire to Our Bed [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1490417
Comments: 115
Kudos: 215





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *This one makes the most sense if you read Chapter 3 of A History of Unpleasantness, where you can hear all about Aziraphale's relationship with Medoc. If you haven't read it, the summation is that Aziraphale's a bit of a sadist, and when Crowley disappeared for a hundred years, he went on the angelic equivalent of a week-long bender with Crowley's replacement, Medoc. He wasn't in any way kind to Medoc, Crowley has some feelings about not liking pain, and here we are.

It was Christmas Eve, and while Crowley was not someone who indulged in any kind of holiday spirit, he did rather think that the chalk runes on the floor of his flat had a festive glimmer to them. The glimmer was still subdued at the moment, more potential than power. Crowley walked the edge of the circle, looking to make sure that everything was ship-shape and Bristol-fashion, that the outermost ring was solid, that there was no question at all who the inner sigils named.

Crowley had always had a neat hand, and he nodded at the twisting curlicues he had inscribed earlier that afternoon, when he was a bit more tipsy and a bit more angry. Now he was stone-cold sober (ugh), and he had figured out that the anger had never been anger at all but instead only been fear and sadness that looked like anger because it was better than being afraid and sad.

_\---_

“ _Are you quite all right, my dear?”_

_Crowley, bent over the foot of the bed, and ass striped with hot welts, buried his face in his braced arms. He nodded, too aware that if he spoke, he might sob. It was right on the edge of what he could bear._

“ _Crowley?”_

“ _Harder,” Crowley croaked, not raising his head. “You can... harder.”_

_He could picture Aziraphale standing behind him, that fucking cane in his hands, a thoughtful look on his face. In a few moments, he would step to one side, measure the cane across Crowley's ass and start again, perhaps between the marks he had made, or Satan, perhaps on top of them._

_Aziraphale tapped the cool length of the cane across the welts, diagonally across the stripes to make a gate, and Crowley's entire body shuddered._

“ _Are you sure?” Aziraphale asked._

_Suddenly he knew he couldn't. Another two or three cuts, hell, just one more, and it would stop being fun at all. It would send him to that terrible place where he couldn't, just couldn't, understand how Aziraphale could hurt him like this when he was meant to love him so._

“ _No,” he whispered. “No.”_

_The cane was gone so fast that Aziraphale must have miracled it away, and then he was being stretched out on the bed, curled up neatly against Aziraphale's side with Aziraphale's arm around him._

“ _Oh, thank you, darling,” Aziraphale said in his most adoring, most doting voice. “Thank you for telling me that, so very clever and strong...”_

This _was why he asked for the cane, even if he would never say he loved it or even liked it, even when the sound it made ripping through the air brought up unpleasant goosebumps all over his skin. Aziraphale would say such things to him whenever he asked, or even if he didn't, but it wasn't until he was striped red and sore and shh, a little damp around the eyes, that he could believe it so easily._

_He wanted to earn the pretty words and the way the angel stroked his hair and firmly kept him in bed until long after he was ready to be up again. He wanted to earn the way Aziraphale hovered over him, all the soft kisses and the praise and the petting. Just because he could get them whenever he wanted didn't mean that they always felt right, and the cane made it feel right._

\---

Of course it was never right for Aziraphale, was it?

Crowley felt something hot and angry slither around in his chest, winding through his ribs, squeezing around his heart until he thought he might spit fire. There had always been that peculiar darkness in Aziraphale, and recently, Crowley had gotten to know it a little better. There was a part of the angel that wanted not just _more_ but _too much._ It wasn't anything satisfied by a particular act or a particular submission. Crowley wasn't sure that Aziraphale's desire to inflict a certain kind of suffering on the object of his affection _could_ be satiated, but it still didn't remove the sting from the fact that Crowley couldn't even begin to scratch that itch.

He couldn't.

Aziraphale didn't even want him to try, and if Crowley was very honest with himself, the kind of honesty that only came after a bottle of 1990 Château Margaux drunk selfishly on his own, he didn't want to try either. He might fantasize about letting Aziraphale tear him apart, but he was smart enough to know he would hate it. It would put him straight into a place where he could doubt Aziraphale's love for him, and he wasn't allowed to go there anymore.

\---

“ _I don't know why you didn't hit me again,” Crowley mumbled, face half-smashed against Aziraphale's waistcoat. “You could have. I would have let you.”_

“ _Thank you,” Aziraphale said, bringing Crowley's hand to his lips for a kiss. “I know you would have, dear.”_

“ _How did you know?” Crowley persisted. “I'm just saying it now, after we've stopped, and I know you're not going to start again.”_

“ _You would have let me, and you would have immediately regretted it. I know you very well, and the only thing that outstrips your inclination towards personal disaster is your desire to please me.”_

_Crowley shivered, because that was humiliating whatever way you cut it, wasn't it? Wanting to please something like Aziraphale, who was so very holy and good despite that bottomless need for the pain of others...it brought to mind things like eating dust forever and slithering about on his belly. Craven, unworthy, unwary, and unwise._

“ _You want it,” Crowley objected, and Aziraphale nuzzled the top of his head lovingly._

“ _Yes. You must learn to live with that. I have.”_

_It wasn't fair, he thought. It wasn't_ fair _that Aziraphale could give him everything he wanted, everything he had hoped and dreamed of and longed for for six thousand years and that Crowley couldn't do the same._

_No, not couldn't._

_Was refused._

_And Satan, did Crowley hate being refused._

_\---_

He had gone home with a mumbled excuse of some sort or another, and bless the angel, Aziraphale had apparently decided he was an adult and let him. He must have noticed that Crowley was out of sorts, but he likely assumed that they would talk it out later if it needed to be talked out.

And they could.

After Crowley gave Aziraphale his Christmas present.

He did one final check of the sigils and then he reached for the jar of rabbit's blood he had procured from his friendly neighborhood butcher. He slopped the blood into the circle and held his hand over it, eyes drifting shut as he sharpened his will like a knife. He wasn't doing anything so nice as asking, and he felt something a bit like fabric and a bit like mist give way before his demand.

_All right. Up you come, my lad._

The blood and the power Crowley poured into the summoning swelled like a tide, and like a tide, it surged around him, threatening to knock him off his feet. He brought it round, let it pull at him for a bit, and then he sent it out

“Come on,” he whispered. “You're coming whether you want to or not, so you might as well be a good boy.”

Summoning magic burned. It stung, and it stunned, and an intense heat shimmered over the circle. It twisted, and then with a sound like the roar of a wounded locomotive, it dissipated, leaving behind what looked like a slender young man.

He was dressed in the tatters of what had likely once been a rather expensive Victorian suit. He was almost as tall as Crowley, and his dark hair fell into his eyes, giving him a rumpled, freshly-woken look. His legs were a little too long for his frame, his face a little too soft for his height, and when he sat up, his dark glasses slipped down his nose, revealing eyes that were side-to-side an animal black.

Crowley grinned, opening his mouth to speak, but then the demon inside froze, his eyes rolled up in his skull, and he slumped to his side on the ground. Crowley waited, and when Medoc didn't move, he shook his head.

“Medoc,” he said. “Medoc, you're embarrassing yourself. Get up.”

Still there was no movement, and after a few more moments, Crowley rolled his eyes and broke the circle by swiping his foot across one of the chalk lines.

“Medoc-” he started, and the cutting thing he had been going to say was swiftly interrupted when Medoc twisted and kicked him hard in the chest.

The air left Crowley's body in a whoosh, he landed on his rear, and fuck, who needed to breathe when it felt like the fucking bunny rabbit had maybe staved in a rib or two?

Medoc scrambled past him, or at least he tried to, because Crowley twisted around and grabbed his ankle, yanking him back to the floor with a hard thud. Crowley heaved his body on top of Medoc's, hissing angrily.

“No!” Medoc cried, thrashing desperately under Crowley's weight. They were, Crowley noted sourly, mostly equal in size, but Medoc, flat on his face, wasn't going anywhere while Crowley straddled his legs. He pressed him down to the dusty floor with a hand between his shoulders and another in his hair.

“Medoc, you dumb fucking bunny,” Crowley said with exasperation, and he had to quickly right himself when Medoc almost threw him off again.

'”Stop this, or do you not want to see the angel again?”

Medoc went as still and silent as the grave, and Crowley chuckled.

“Ah, there we are,” he hissed, leaning his weight more fully over Medoc's back. “ _There_ we are. Said the magic word, did I?”

He suddenly became aware of Medoc's fast breath in the quiet room. He slipped his hand from Medoc's back to rest flat against Medoc's chest, where he could feel his heart beating almost painfully hard.

“Oh, sweet thing,” Crowley purred, his lips just inches away from Medoc's ear. “Have I got a deal for you...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Okay, what I was trying to get across in that scene is that though they may look like people, they don't really move like us at all. I looked up YouTube videos of rabbits fighting snakes for this and did the best I could.
> 
> *Crowley, bad at things! This isn't just bad kink, it's bad non-monogamy, bad faith, and just plain mean.
> 
> *Crowley got kicked in the chest in this scene because I decided he looked a bit too cool for a bit too long. 
> 
> *Credit where it's due, Crowley's actually come a good ways from where he was in The Price of Feeling Better.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley took presents very seriously, at least sometimes, and there was no way he was giving Aziraphale his present in rags. Instead he loaned Medoc some of his own clothes, and then he sat him on the sofa with a makeup palette on his lap.

“By all rights you should know how to do this yourself,” Crowley said, tilting Medoc's face towards the light.

“I know the old kind. You know, licking ribbons, pinching cheeks.”

“Ugh. Desperation measures, and that pinching thing hurts. Here, look up. Just a bit of gold for your eyes, I think, and something too dark for your mouth, and we should be set.”

“Is this what the angel likes?”

“Don't you know?”

Medoc apparently didn't, because his mouth snapped shut. He was as pliant as a doll in Crowley's hands, however, and that was all that mattered as Crowley dusted his eyelids with gold and painted his lips a deep claret. Still Crowley could sense a tension in him, hunger tightened to a violin string, and that string almost snapped when the doorbell rang. Crowley put away the palette and pointed at Medoc.

“What are you going to do?”

“Whatever the angel tells me to do,” Medoc repeated obediently.

Crowley inspected him for a moment, and then nodded. He didn't trust Medoc more than he trusted any demon, but a demon with that kind of longing in him for an angel, well, he knew he could take that one to the bank.

He went around the corner to open the door for Aziraphale. In a blue scarf, his cheeks rosy from the cold and a scatter of snowflakes caught in his hair, he looked so much like festive merriment that Crowley wanted to laugh. Instead, he only grinned, hovering in the doorway until Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.

“Everything all right, my love?”

“Yeah... yeah, only can you kiss me?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said warmly, and he leaned in to give Crowley a sweet, lingering kiss on the mouth. It was nothing that would scandalize the neighbors, but Crowley was still a little warm when he pulled back, letting Aziraphale into the apartment.

“Got a present for you, angel.”

“Do you? I have yours right here.”

“Wonder what it could be,” Crowley said, glancing at the wine bottle-shaped package under Aziraphale's arm.

“Well, perhaps I have a few more surprises planned for you later...”

“You're never going to guess mine,” Crowley said, and then Aziraphale came around the corner and saw Medoc.

“Oh,” he said faintly, and Crowley suddenly realized that he might have made a mistake.

He was watching for that moment, that brief flicker of need that Aziraphale got when his mind went somewhere dark. It usually occurred so quickly that he figured that Aziraphale didn't even know it happened sometimes, but Crowley always did. It was just a moment of need, a single instant where Aziraphale wanted to push a little too hard, go a little too far...

He didn't see any of that right now.

Instead Aziraphale looked like he was going to faint, Medoc's longing for the angel was going to need to get steamed out of the drapes, and Crowley was beginning to wonder if he should have just given the angel wine instead.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said again, and very calmly, he set the wrapped bottle he was holding on the nearby table. He took a deep breath he didn't need to take, and then he turned to Crowley, carefully avoiding meeting Medoc's gaze. Crowley at least understood that; Medoc was sort of intense.

“Crowley, may I speak to you in the atrium?”

Crowley gave Medoc a look to indicate he ought to stay right where he was, but he doubted the other demon even noticed, as focused as he was on the angel who was currently doing his best to ignore him.

Crowley followed Aziraphale through the spinning door to the atrium, shutting it behind them and turning to find himself impaled on Aziraphale's sharpest look.

“ _What_ were you thinking?” Aziraphale hissed.

“Present!” Crowley garbled, because fuck, was he not at his best when Aziraphale looked like that. “I... I got you a present?”

“You....brought me Medoc, to whom I behaved dreadfully and who has _every reason_ to despise me...”

“He doesn't!”

“Crowley... just _why_?”

“Because there's things you want to do that you can't do with me!”

“And if I can't do them with you, what makes you think I want to do them at all?”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale. He was utterly lost, but now there was a gleaming thread, the bare hint of an idea of how much Aziraphale loved him and how faint every other thing in the world was for the angel when compared to that love. It was humbling and confusing and, all right, a little terrifying, and Crowley shook as sudden understanding came over Aziraphale's face.

“Oh... oh my dear, did you really think...?”

Aziraphale's throat worked for a moment, sorrow and sympathy and concern. He reached up to cup Crowley's cheek in his hand. Crowley swayed, leaning into Aziraphale's touch.

“I have... I have told you. Over and over again. I do not care. I do not _care_ about what I don't have because I am too busy loving what I _do_ have. I am too busy loving you to spare anything else.”

Crowley laid his hand over Aziraphale's. Satan, Aziraphale looked like something in him might break, and Crowley couldn't be responsible for that, could not bear it.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “Oh, angel, I am so sorry.”

He wanted his words to soothe Aziraphale, but instead they seemed to have the opposite effect. Aziraphale straightened, and the hurt on his face was smoothed over into something much sterner.

“I love you,” he said coldly. “Beyond what I can stand. And you believe that there are things I want more than you, that I would want to touch someone who _isn't you_.”

Crowley swallowed hard, because yes, that had been what he was saying, wasn't it, all unknowing.

“I don't care about hurting anyone who isn't you.”

He paused.

“Crowley.”

“Y-yeah, angel?”

“Please send Medoc in. I would like to speak to him alone.”

It was the opposite of a request. Crowley nodded jerkily and somehow managed to convey the command to Medoc who was off like a shot.

They were in the atrium so he didn't even the plants to shout at. Instead he prowled from the kitchen to his bedroom to the balcony and back again, nervously eyeing the door where Aziraphale and Medoc were talking. Twice he nearly went for the wrapped bottle Aziraphale had left on the table, and twice he pulled back.  
Finally he ended up sprawled in the throne, staring at nothing, wondering if this was some kind of sublime torture on Aziraphale's part. Then the door to the atrium opened, and he realized it wasn't, because it wasn't like he felt any better when Aziraphale and Medoc came out.

Aziraphale went straight for Crowley's liquor cabinet, removing an ice wine that he'd been saving for something special. As Crowley watched, he popped the cork, found a glass, and settled himself comfortably on the sofa with an expectant look on his face.

Crowley sat up straight when Medoc came towards him, eyes downcast and a curious kind of tension running through his skinny body. To his surprise, Medoc knelt down in front of him, almost between his legs, and then... simply stayed there. Crowley blinked.

“Um. What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *In this universe, Aziraphale takes it very poorly when Crowley doubts that Aziraphale loves him. So, you know.
> 
> *(points at the bad kink tag emphatically in preparation for chapter 3)
> 
> *Medoc's talking about a time when you could lick a red ribbon to loosen the dye and rub it on your lips and your cheeks. At least he wasn't rubbing lead-based paint on himself?


	3. Chapter 3

“You have given me a lovely present,” Aziraphale said primly. “You really have outdone yourself, my dear. He's beautiful. Charming, willing, simply wonderful to look at...”

Crowley uttered a low hiss at that, and on his knees, Medoc met his eyes for the first time. If there had been even a trace of mockery on Medoc's face, he would have slapped it right off, but there wasn't, only a desperate kind of defiance that made Crowley pause.

“Unfortunately, it's a bit like getting an expensive vase when you are allergic to flowers, isn't it?” Aziraphale continued. “Medoc is beautiful, but there's not a single blessed thing I want to do with him.”

Crowley wanted to say something about having kept the receipt, but Medoc looked away, down and to one side. Aziraphale's words didn't shock him at all, and Crowley's stomach did a slow guilty roll.

“So what do you want me to do about it, angel?” Crowley asked uneasily. “What's... what's all this _about?_ ”

Aziraphale smiled, and there was a hint of something sharp buried in the warmth. The warmth was all for Crowley, and so was the sharpness.

“I enjoy _you,”_ Aziraphale said. “And when last we spoke about Medoc, you had a few choice things to say about what you would do if you ever saw him again.”

“Er.”

“I believe your exact words were _I want to see him shredded to little bits._ Was it something like that?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Crowley echoed. There may have been one or two threats about wanting to kill Medoc for thinking he was allowed to breathe in Aziraphale's general vicinity as well, but right now, with Medoc at his feet and Aziraphale speaking over his head as if he really were a vase (or, bloody hell, a houseplant), Crowley couldn't quite muster up the vitriol. Instead, he was aware of something feeling uncomfortably like pity, and if he were anyone but the Demon Crowley, Serpent of Eden, something almost like compassion.

“I want to see that,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley shivered because _there_ it was, that flicker of hunger and fascination, and yes, it had no time for Medoc, no interest in anyone but Crowley himself.

“Show me,” Aziraphale said. “I want to see what you do with him. I want to see you hurt him, if that's what you want to do. I want to see tear him apart, and perhaps put him together again. I want all of that.”

Crowley licked his lips, aware that his nails were digging into the arms of his throne.

“You think that's going to faze me, angel? You think I can't do it, or that it'll hurt me because I'm too bloody nice or some nonsense?”

Aziraphale actually laughed _,_ taking a sip of Crowley's ice wine.

“Maybe I wouldn't mind seeing you squirm a little bit, but.. well. You got me a present. I found a way to enjoy it. And you _do_ want me to enjoy my present, don't you?”

That sugar-sweet angelic tone didn't go with the hungry light in Aziraphale's eyes or the chilling fascination that Crowley could sense radiating from him. It was nothing that should have come from a celestial being, even if it was underwritten with a love Crowley knew was there even if he couldn't sense it, and it was... it was all for him. He knew it, and that made him let out a slow breath in something too gentle to be a hiss.

“And you,” he said, leaning down to put himself on eye-level with Medoc. “Hey. Look at me. Tell me what you're getting out of this. Or is it only because the angel told you to?”

He wasn't sure what he was going to do if Medoc said it was just for Aziraphale. Crowley supposed it made him a hypocrite, that he was willing to feed Medoc to his ever-so-slightly monstrous beloved but shuddered at getting his own hands that dirty.

To his surprise, however, Medoc gave him look that was coolly speculative.

“I want to see what makes you so damned special,” Medoc said.

Crowley stared at him, and then he let a slow, sharp grin spread over his face.

“Well, my goodness, look whose spine decided to finally show up,” he said softly. “Here I was worried that you were going to be a sad little limp rag, and it turns out you were hiding some bite all this time. Angel, did you know about this?”  
“No,” Aziraphale said with curiosity. “Not at all.”

Medoc started to turn towards Aziraphale, but Crowley's hand landed in his hair, bringing him back around.

“You get to look at him when I say you can,” he said. “Right now, you're for me, aren't you?”

He waited for Medoc to nod, and then Crowley stood, dragging him to his feet. Again, he placed his hand flat over Medoc's heart, feeling the quick beat.

“He's right, you know,” Crowley said absently. “You really are nice to look at. Bet you're popular with a certain set of Hell that likes them on the human side, aren't you?”

Medoc flinched at that, because _popular_ meant a few different things downstairs, not all of them very nice, and Crowley leaned in to press his cheek against Medoc's, exploiting the little gap he had made in the other demon's defenses. Assessing the desires of demons was more or less the same as assessing those of humans, though he'd never had much interest in tempting demons. Some of the things he found in Medoc surprised him, many surprised him not at all, and when he finished, Medoc was clinging to his arms and shivering.

“Oh, yes, definitely some things to work with here,” he murmured. “I should have realized that you were one of the last ones to fall. Just so tired of being the youngest, aren't you? _Someone_ wants attention.”

Medoc gave him a mutinous look, not even trying to defend himself.

“Why shouldn't I?” he asked. “You like it.”

“Yes, but I've learned to want it from the right person. That's important.”

He had learned to want attention from Aziraphale, which was its own raft of issues, but they didn't need to get into that right now

“Right,” he said, drawing back, aware of Aziraphale's gaze on them both. “I think that'll do for a start.”

“What will?” asked Medoc, and in response, Crowley kissed him.

It was warm and wet and honestly nice enough that Crowley lost himself in it for a moment, in the way Medoc's lips parted for him and how very good he tasted. He liked the way Medoc's hands came up to rest on his hips and the way Medoc pressed a little closer to him.

Then he grinned against Medoc's mouth and bit his lower lip hard enough that he tasted blood. Medoc yelped, trying to push away, and he stumbled when Crowley released him suddenly. Medoc was handsome on his own, but with a trickle of blood running down his chin, he had an altogether different kind of appeal. and Crowley tugged his sleeves up, closing the distance between them again and pulling him up by the hair.

“You have got a lot of nerve coming after _my_ angel,” he said pleasantly. “Imagine thinking you could bargain with him, that you had something he wanted.”

“ _You_ weren't looking after him,” Medoc shot back, and Crowley grinned before slapping him on the face. It was hard enough that Medoc's ears probably rang, and the hand print on his cheek was livid.

“Oh yes, keep on speaking like that and see where it gets you,” he said. “See, I've heard of what you would let the angel do to you, and I can guess why, can't I?”

Medoc's eyes widened, and he couldn't resist turning to look at Aziraphale, which earned him another slap to the opposite cheek.

“Don't worry, I'm not so mean I would _say_ it,” Crowley said with something approximating kindness. “But I think you do owe me something for trespassing over what's mine-”

“He wanted it!”

“Doesn't matter. So you owe me just a bit of pain, maybe some embarrassment, and some fun. And if you're good, if you are very good for me indeed,... how about if I give you some of what you really want?”

“What does he really want?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley glanced over at him, pleased that he was paying attention.

“Maybe I'll tell you later, angel,” he said, and then he turned his attention back to Medoc. “First, though, I think I want those clothes of mine back.”

Medoc shook a little as he started to strip, and Crowley didn't help, instead standing back and simply watching as Medoc fumbled with the modern clasps and fasteners. Medoc was slender but not as thin as Crowley was, and when he bent to remove his trousers, Crowley could see the small tattoo of the running hare at the back of his neck. Otherwise, he was unmarked, smooth and mostly hairless as some demons tended to be unless they remembered. It wasn't all that Medoc had forgotten, and Crowley raised an eyebrow at his smooth groin.

“You know it panics people if they see you like that, right?” he asked. “It's usually more convenient to have one as soon as you're walking about up here.”

Medoc only glared, and Crowley shrugged.

“It's good advice for free. Come here.”

Crowley took a seat on his throne again, more comfortably this time, and he pulled Medoc onto his lap. It was slightly awkward, too many long limbs and really not enough padding between the two of them, but then he could draw Medoc down to kiss him again, licking at the blood from the mostly closed bite on his lip.

Crowley took his time with it, because this wasn't something he had had in a while. Aziraphale liked to kiss to an extent, but he was always so fussy about it, and usually done before Crowley was half-started. Too sloppy for him by far, and too awkward, when to Crowley that was part of the fun.

With Medoc, Crowley was allowed to take his time, and after a frozen moment, Medoc started to kiss him in return. There was a tremor of nerves under his skin, and Crowley soothed him with gentle strokes to his back and soft licks to his cut lip. Really, so very pretty.

He kissed him until their mouths were red and Medoc's hands were tangled in Crowley's shirt. Some of the urge to kick had faded from him, and Crowley cupped the back of his neck, pressing Medoc's face to his shoulder as he looked over at Aziraphale.

“What do you think, angel? Are you enjoying your present so far?”

Aziraphale was sitting very still, as intent as a stone lion, and as unblinking and unbreathing. He smiled to be addressed, inclining his head slightly.

“Very much so,” he said softly. “I have not seen you quite like this before.”

“No jealousy, nothing you are going to try to take out of my skin later?”

“Not unless you would enjoy that.”

Crowley shivered, and Medoc made a soft inquiring sound.

“What does he do to you?”

“Nothing as bad as he ever did to you,” Crowley said, relishing the little flinch that went through Medoc. He resumed stroking his back, making a soft comforting noise.

“He was cruel to you, wasn't he? He told me about it, you know. Told me about the straps and the clothes pegs, all those terrible games.”

Medoc's hands tightened on Crowley's shirt and then loosened. He would have stood up, but Crowley held on to him, keeping him in place with careful strength. He pressed his lips to Medoc's ear, whispering so softly that he knew that Aziraphale couldn't hear, even with his excellent senses.

“He shouldn't have done any of that to you. It hurt you, and he had no right to do that.”

“It didn't matter,” Medoc said, pulling back. “It was fine.”

Crowley smiled at him.

“No, it wasn't,” he said at a normal volume. “And I don't expect you to do anything with that right now. I expect you can't. Give a few years, hell, give it a few decades. You have the time.”

“I have _no idea_ what you are talking about,” Medoc said at a loss, and Crowley lifted Medoc's hand in his and kissed it.

“No, you don't. But you are a very good kisser. Angel doesn't know what he's missing.”

Medoc's mouth twitched in something that might have been a smile if his lip hadn't been bitten bloody.

“Thank you.”

“There you are. I thought you might have pretty manners if you tried. No, don't frown at me...”

Crowley reached up and pinched Medoc's sore lip, making the demon twitch. Crowley realized that between the kissing and the squirming that he was getting hard, which, pleasant, but not quite what he wanted, not yet.

“Pretty manners, but you're a damned brat, too, aren't you? Don't think I've forgotten how hard you kicked me earlier. That hurt, and-”

“Crowley, he _kicked_ you?”

That was from Aziraphale, his tone was chilly enough that both demons froze.

Aziraphale hadn't moved at all. He was still seated on the sofa with a second glass of ice wine now, one ankle propped up on the opposite knee. However, he had quite forgotten to pretend to be a human thing, and the sense of coiled menace coming from him would have given a brick wall the creeps. It was ever so slightly mad, ever so slightly murderous.

Medoc didn't seem to move either, but suddenly he was pressed closer to Crowley than he was before, and he clutched desperately at Crowley's shirt as if he wasn't sure he was allowed to grasp Crowley's hand.

“Yeah, he did,” Crowley said warily. “I was being- that is, I summoned him out of nowhere and then broke the circle-”

“He tried to hurt you.”

Crowley laid a hand on Medoc's knee, squeezing gently and never taking his eyes off of Aziraphale.

“You once made him think you were going to use holy water on him,” Crowley countered, not quite sure what he was arguing for.

“I did,” Aziraphale said. “That has nothing to do with anything. He is not allowed to hurt you. No one is.”

“No one except you?”

For a moment, Crowley could feel the ice cracking underneath all of them. He had figured out after his and Aziraphale's little talk in the atrium that he had put them on dangerous ground with this little stunt, but he hadn't thought this would be the thing to shatter it all.

Then Aziraphale smiled, wry and slightly embarrassed. He blinked twice, almost batting his eyes at Crowley, and looked down at Crowley's wine.

“Just so. I'm sorry, I was overreacting, wasn't I?”

“Maybe a bit,” Crowley said with a relieved grin. He felt Medoc take a careful breath, and then another, as if he had stopped breathing in hopes the monster would pass him by. He reached up and wordlessly wiped away the tears in Medoc's eyes with the ball of his thumb.

“But as I was saying before the peanut gallery decided to chime in, I'm still a bit irritated about that kick. I mean, I get it, no one likes a summoning, so that means I'm inclined to go easy on you. Isn't that sweet of me?”

Crowley traced his fingers from where Medoc's navel would have been, up his chest and down again, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He could almost hear the gears in Medoc's head turning, wondering what the right answer was, how easy easy could possibly be, if at any moment he was going to get bitten again.

_Do I like this?_ Crowley found himself wondering, _Is this what the angel likes so much?_

It was fascinating at least, and right now, since he had the chance to find out, he settled in to play a bit.

“Would you like to know what I'm going to do to you?  
Medoc twitched, started to say something, stopped, and then continued more carefully.

“Yes, please. I would like that very much.”

“ _Such_ pretty manners,” Crowley said approvingly. “I'll tell you if you kiss me.”

He laughed when Medoc gave him a quick peck on the mouth, close-lipped, almost demure.

“Oh, little brat of a bunny-”

“Hare.”

“Little brat of a hare. See, that just changed things a little. Give me a real kiss, and I'll tell you what it changed things to.”

Medoc caught his breath and wound his arms around Crowley's neck, drawing closer and then kissing him full on the mouth. It was, Crowley was amused to note, exactly the kind of kiss he liked best, warm and wet, exploratory and just a little gone.

He could feel Medoc sliding around the edges of his mind and his wants as well, skilled and careful, but simply too weak and too inexperienced to learn very much at all. They came from the same stock, demons discovered to be closest to the desires of humans, but Medoc was punching out of his weight class, so to speak.

Still the kiss was good. That counted for something.

“All right, pretty,” Crowley said, sitting back. “Well done. I'm going to spank you.”

Medoc blinked, and beyond Medoc, Aziraphale got a speculative look.

“With... May I ask, what with?”

“Just my hand. Maybe something a bit meaner if I'm so inclined Sturdy lad like you, I'm sure you can take a spanking, can't you?”

He could. He had taken much worse from Aziraphale and likely in Hell as well, and Medoc nodded cautiously.

“Come here, then, up you get.”

Crowley got up and directed Medoc into place, kneeling on the seat of the throne and facing the back. He watched with something like affection as Medoc shifted, fingers gripping the upright bars to either side of the velvet-padded back. Medoc risked a quick lapin look over his shoulder, and Crowley ruffled his hair.

“Eyes front, please,” he said, and Medoc huffed a soft breath and obeyed.

All right, he did like this. Messing about with Aziraphale was one thing, when he taunted the angel into getting into position and taking a few swats, but Aziraphale never had this melting submission, this pretty struggle. Topping the angel was pulling a tiger's tail when he lived in the tiger's cage. This was different.

“Good view, angel?”

“Very, thank you.”

“No comments, questions, or concerns?”

“Not at all, darling. Only...”

Crowley turned, intrigued by the slight flush on Aziraphale's cheeks. He had thought it was the wine, but apparently not.

“Only?”

“Could I ask you to come here for just a moment?”

Crowley touched Medoc's shoulder gently, and then he went to lean over the arm of the sofa, putting his face close to Aziraphale's.

“What's on your mind, angel?”

“Is it all right that this is making me want to take you to bed and utterly ruin you?”

Crowley hissed a little at how Aziraphale could seem at once predatory and shyly starstruck. Aziraphale might want to take a bite out of him, but he'd blush as he did it.

“Yeah, I think that's just fine... Later?”

Aziraphale nodded decisively.

“Very much later. I want to see what you do next.”

Crowley straightened, and when he walked back to Medoc, there was a bit of a swagger in his stride.

Medoc hadn't moved at all, and Crowley rewarded him with a kiss to the back of his neck, directly underneath his tattoo. His body was tense, all lean muscle and readiness to leap, but somehow, he was keeping himself still.

“Lovely thing,” Crowley murmured. “Just gorgeous. Are you ready?”

Medoc nodded, and then remembering himself, muttered a soft _yes._ Crowley didn't need demonic powers to realize that that was at least half-way a lie, but he certainly wasn't going to hold a lie against him.

Crowley swept the flat of his hand down Medoc's spine and lower, resting gently it on the curve of his ass. He grazed his nails across the sensitive skin there as he brought his free hand up to tangle in Medoc's dark hair.

The first crack of Crowley's palm across Medoc's rear sounded like a shot, and Medoc uttered a sort of belated cry, something halfway between a whine and yelp. It was a pretty sound, so intriguing that Crowley struck him again, and then again. He was fascinated and a little hungry for the way Medoc squirmed, his fingers tightening on the bars and his shoulders shaking.

He dismissed the sting in his hand because he didn't feel like dealing with it, and then he could hit Medoc as hard as he wanted, peppering blows from his ass down to this thighs. He liked the way Medoc tried to jerk away from him only to be halted by Crowley's grip in his hair and how his fair skin reddened immediately under Crowley's blows.

Medoc bit down on his cries, going silent, and that was when Crowley paused, sliding his hand down between Medoc's legs to fondle the smooth skin there. There may not have been anything there to touch but skin, but it was intimate and sensitive, and he stroked his fingers firmly from front to back and back again as Medoc squirmed in surprise. When he started whining and clenching his thighs around Crowley's hand Crowley grinned, pulled back, and started spanking him again.

“Oh look at you,” Crowley murmured. “Just look at how well you are taking this.”

The soft praise made Medoc shudder. Oh he might take anything if Crowley were sweet enough, and Crowley had a moment of sympathy for Aziraphale because that _was_ rather addictive, wasn't it?

As much as he had taken worse and as good as he might have wanted to be, Medoc didn't last terribly long under Crowley's blows. Soon he was shaking, cringing as much as he could without actually moving and trying to put his mind elsewhere, and that would not do. Crowley had no interest in beating someone who wasn't there.

Crowley stroked him between the legs again, using just the slightest sharpness in his nails to make Medoc whimper, and when he started to thrust his hips back, Crowley pulled away to restart the spanking.

He did it twice more, hard blows followed by the sweet sly pleasure of his hand in the bare place between Medoc's legs, and when he finally stopped, Medoc was shaking, his ass an almost glowing red and dotted with tiny welts. Crowley stepped back to admire his work, and even with his back turned, he could feel Aziraphale's eyes on him. Fuck, he wasn't going to walk for a week after the angel got through with him, and that added the most interesting sort of vertigo to the moment.

He slid his thumbnail over Medoc's inflamed skin and was rewarded with a soft and heartfelt groan.

“How are you doing, pretty?”

“Sore, and, um...”

“Can't you say it?”

Medoc shook his head, pressing his face against the velvet back of the chair, and Crowley laughed.

“Shy little darling. All right. I won't make you. Get up, trade me places.”

When Medoc staggered up, Crowley sat on the couch again and tugged the demon into his lap, his chest to Medoc's back, Medoc's long legs spread to either side of his. Over Medoc's shoulder, Crowley saw Aziraphale, leaned forward now, all of his holy attention focused on the play going on in front of him.   
“Angel, tell me, are his eyes closed?”

“Yes, they are.”

Crowley planted a gentle kiss on the side of Medoc's neck.

“Good,” he hissed into his ear. “You remembered.”

Medoc shifted on his lap, making an incoherent little sound, and with a grin, Crowley ground his hips against Medoc's raw flesh. He could guess how his jeans felt against such abused skin, and he pressed up again before wrapping his arms around Medoc's chest and bringing him even closer.

“There you are. Tell me honestly. How good _are_ you at making an effort?”

“Of course I know how to do it,” Medoc said, summoning the strength to be a little indignant, and Crowley gave him a gentle bite on the shoulder in warning.

“Of course you do. But are you good at it? Do the nerves connect up? Does it feel right when it's touched?”

“It... it looks right. I can use it,” Medoc said warily, and Crowley made a slight disapproving sound.

“If that's all that you can say about it, you're not doing so very well at all, are you.”

Whatever Medoc was going to say was lost in a soft gasp as Crowley cupped him between the legs, gently knitting his fingers into the soft flesh there.

“You took that very well, so now you are going to take this too. Just relax. Just sit still and let me take care of you.”

Crowley didn't know if it was his words or his touch that seemed to send Medoc into a slight trance. All he knew was that Medoc seemed suddenly heavier than he was before, his head lolling back on Crowley's shoulder and his body somehow even more pliant.

“What do you like, hm? Cock, cunt, something else?”

“I don't know...”

“Decide, or I'll ask the angel to decide for you.”

“Cock,” Medoc said quickly, and then, remembering, “if you please.”

Crowley made a humming sound, resting his hand between Medoc's legs as he concentrated. It took patience and skill to do this right, and he had every intention of doing this right for Medoc. Nerves and skin and blood vessels, it could all go so wrong, and it hurt a little to think that Medoc had never learned to do it correctly.

It was fine. Crowley was very good at this, and he didn't mind the work in the least. The flesh under his hand grew hot and then malleable, and he concentrated, taking a proprietary pleasure in Medoc's responsiveness. Medoc shook, turning his head so that he could press his face against Crowley's neck. Crowley could feel Medoc's lips move against his skin and wondered absently what Medoc was trying to say, but his attention was consumed with his task.

Nerves, they were the key thing, and of course Crowley had to test them. He lit them up one by one, and then when he was satisfied, turned them all on at once. It made Medoc shout, flailing in Crowley's grasp, and then he went still, panting and whining as Crowley gave his erect leaking cock a slow stroke.

“Well. Look who's so very eager.”

“Not... not my fault,” Medoc gasped, and Crowley gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

“Of course not. When things are your fault, I'll tell you. Angel, what do you think?”

Aziraphale swallowed, and there was no way the color on his cheek was due to wine. The wine had been set aside, and his eyes were wide and fascinated.

“I think you are very good at what you do, my dear.”

“Thank you. Would you like to see me do more?”

“Yes, very much so.”

Crowley considered, consulting that inner register in himself that told him when he was making a mistake. It was a dusty little thing, slow and stupid for want of use, but it was quiet right now.

“Would you like to help me give Medoc something nice?”

Aziraphale blinked in surprise.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Pet him a little, hold him a little. That's all.”

“If that's what you like.”

Medoc drew a hard breath at that, but Crowley gave him another slow stroke, tight and firm, and he dissolved again.

“He's not going to hurt you,” Crowley murmured. “It's all right.”

“That's not-”

“I know. But bear it for me. Go over to him.”

Medoc staggered to his feet but before he could take a step, Crowley spoke again.

“Hands and knees.”

With only a little bit of reluctance, Medoc dropped, moving between the throne and the sofa as Crowley watched. There was nothing broken about this. It was just pure need, and Crowley knew that if he reached down between Medoc's legs he would find him still achingly hard for it.

Medoc hesitated when he got to Aziraphale, and Aziraphale reached for him slowly, as if he were a dog that might bite. The demon sighed when Aziraphale touched his hair, leaning in closer, and Crowley lost a little bet with himself when Aziraphale didn't end up with a lapful of bunny.

Instead Medoc behaved himself, and Aziraphale grew more easy, running his fingers through Medoc's dark hair and stroking his shoulders with deliberate care.

“His eyes are still closed, Crowley.”

“How clever of him. I'll only give him four or five with the belt then.”

Medoc whined at that, and then Crowley was kneeling at his side and helping him prop himself up on Aziraphale's knees, allowing the angel to hold him even closer.

He looked, Crowley thought, a little like he was knelt at prayer, and the picture would have been perfect if Aziraphale had pulled out his wings. Penitent and angel, rather too Victorian schmaltz for words, and Crowley grinned. Time to dirty that up a bit, wasn't it?

Crowley pulled his belt out of its loops, holding the buckle in his fist and winding the length of leather around his fist until barely five or six inches stuck out. He didn't need a lot of length to do damage at this distance, especially not with Medoc already so raw, and he wanted control more than he wanted damage anyway.

The first blow of the belt across Medoc's rear made him jump, and Aziraphale held him a little tighter. The second made him cry out, and the third, harder than the first two, set him to shaking. It was very pretty, but on the fourth and fifth blows, he went utterly silent.

Crowley tilted his head slightly, laying the belt aside. He glanced at Aziraphale, who was still holding him, still stroking his hair.

“Angel?”

“He's just having a bit of a cry, that's all.”

“Let me see.”

Aziraphale turned Medoc to face Crowley. He went reluctantly at first, but then Crowley touched his chin, making him look up and reveal eyes overflowing with tears and otherwise perfectly still, perfectly quiet. He wasn't defiant or sulky now. This was something that had been pushed, maybe too hard, and Crowley felt a nibble of guilt.

He opened his mouth to ask if they should stop, what Medoc needed, but then Medoc swallowed hard.

“Don't stop,” he said, his voice soft. “ _Please_ don't stop.”

Crowley looked over Medoc's head at Aziraphale, who was watching him with an intensity that made him feel a bit like Medoc looked.

“Whatever are you going to do now, Crowley?” asked Aziraphale, and Crowley frowned.

“Not what I was planning on doing, I know that, at least.”

“I'm not some delicate flower,” Medoc said, startling them both. “I... I don't want this to end. Not yet.”

Crowley wavered, looked up at Aziraphale, got no help, and then came to a decision.

“All right, love. Up on the couch then.”

Aziraphale started to move, but Crowley shook his head.

“Just stay right there, angel.”

Crowley helped Medoc lie down on the couch, face up and his head in Aziraphale's lap.

“You can look at him now. I think you've earned that at least,” he said, starting to strip off his own clothes.

Medoc's eyes drifted open, and it could break Crowley's heart how he looked at Aziraphale and how Aziraphale didn't look at him back. Satan, what fools they all were, and he included the whole of Heaven and Hell and Earth in that thought.

“I missed you,” Medoc muttered.

“You were very lovely,” Aziraphale responded.

The sofa got just long enough and just wide enough, and finally naked, Crowley came to kneel between Medoc's legs, looking down the cock resting softly against Medoc's thigh now. He spared a pleased thought for his own craftsmanship before laying his hand on Medoc's chest.

“All right,” he said. “Listen. What I said before, about what you want. You know it won't be real, right? You can pretend, _I_ can pretend, but it won't be real.”

To his surprise, Medoc managed to tear his eyes away from Aziraphale long enough to give Crowley a slight smile.

“I don't think I could stand it if it was,” he said, and Crowley nodded.

He stretched out on top of Medoc, and suddenly he was closer to Aziraphale as well, could smell the angel's cologne and the paper scent that never left him. Suddenly it wasn't just him doing something to Medoc or offering a present to Aziraphale. Somehow, like this, they were the three of them doing something together, and that was new.

Aziraphale, his fingers digging gently into Medoc's scalp, smiled at Crowley.

“Hadn't you better be getting on with it?” he asked, and Crowley thought that that was less a suggestion than it should have been. Still, it was a good idea, and Crowley always appreciated a good idea.

He rested his weight more firmly on Medoc's prone body, sliding over him with a smooth motion that was too sweet to be called rutting. It didn't take very long before Medoc's cock hardened and Crowley responded to that as much as he had the kissing and the spanking earlier.

They were going to make a mess _,_ he thought, as he pressed down harder against Medoc's willing body.

It took some squirming to get a hand down between them, and when he stroked the pad of his fingertips over the brand-new hole he had made for Medoc, the other demon flinched, shutting his eyes tight.

“Shhh, shhh, it's all right, precious, don't worry,” Crowley murmured. “It's all right, I'm not going to hurt you. You know that, right? I'm not. I would never.”

Crowley suddenly found his fingers wet with a thick lubricant, and he looked up at Aziraphale with a raised eyebrow. The angel only shrugged, and Crowley decided he could ask later. Medoc, unaware of much beyond his own skin, gave a stuttering sigh as Crowley slowly stroked him open and slick.

He liked doing this, liked taking his time, liked the way Medoc's cock was hard and leaking pressed against his body. His own inclination towards cruelty, always significantly weaker than Aziraphale's, was somehow entirely gone, and what remained was warm and soft, not love, but as Medoc had said, he probably couldn't have stood it if it was.

“Precious darling thing, you've been so very sweet for me. All I want to do is to make you feel good now, will you let me, please?”

Medoc choked on the _yes_ , instead only nodding, and Aziraphale bent over him, stroking his face and, ruffling his hair. Crowley was momentarily confused at how Aziraphale could somehow still be that indifferent to someone so vulnerable in his lap. It didn't make sense until Aziraphale met his eyes again, and he remembered, yes, whatever else Aziraphale was, he was only for Crowley.

It was too much, and so he turned his attention back to Medoc, who was arching against his touch, flushed and needy with his hands on Crowley's hips. Almost absently, Crowley sunk slightly into Medoc's desires, at this point entirely undefended and free. He felt Medoc's terrible desperate need for Crowley's words to be true as well as the conviction that it might destroy him utterly if they were. Aziraphale almost had, and what the angel had done lay like a scar across him.

“That's right. That's my darling,” Crowley crooned, shifting to press the tip of his cock against Medoc's hole. “There you are. You're being so good for me, and I'm going to take such very good care of you, aren't I? You're mine, you're only mine, and I'm never going to let anyone hurt you again...”

Medoc keened at that, and Crowley pushed into him with one long smooth stroke. It was tight, but tangled up with Medoc as he was, he knew that there was no pain, nothing but a deep pressure and an intense warmth that sank into them both like claws. Medoc was rolled up so that his long legs were clamped tight around Crowley's hips, and every movement Crowley made shifted his whole body.

Crowley stayed perfectly still for several long moments, and even when he started to thrust, he kept his motions slow and smooth, never wanting to go too far or too fast.

“Do you like that?” Crowley asked. “Are you all right, love? I don't want to hurt you, never that. I don't want this if you don't. I want you to love this. I want to make you feel so very good...”

The cry that Medoc uttered was hoarse, and his hand came up, covering Crowley's eyes. It was fine. Crowley understood, and he kept talking, kept fucking him.

“Perfect little sweetheart. I'm so sorry, love, I'm so sorry that anyone hurt you, but I promise that's over now. If you tell me to stop, I will stop, and I'll love you no matter what...”

When Medoc came, Crowley was so wrapped up in him that it carried him over as well. They clung to each other as the shock of pleasure broke over both of them at once, and Crowley had no idea if it was his own climax he was feeling or Medoc's, and it didn't matter at all. The only thing that mattered was how Medoc felt underneath him, how tight and close they were, how Aziraphale reached over to stroke his cheek, and then it all went a bit dark for a while.

\---

Christmas Day found Crowley in bed with Aziraphale on one side, reading, and Medoc on the other, curled up and sleeping impressively hard against Crowley's hip. He had insisted that Aziraphale heal the bite mark on Medoc's lip, and the demon looked startlingly innocent and unmarked in repose.

“So what were you hoping I was going to learn from all that?” Crowley asked. He doubted he needed to keep his voice low, but he did anyway.

Aziraphale huffed at that.

“Honestly, Crowley, I am not always trying to teach you lessons. You make me sound like quite a menace.”

“If the bastard shoe fits, angel.”

Crowley waited, and Aziraphale finally sighed.

“There wasn't a lesson, or if there was, I suppose it was one I wanted to learn. If anything, perhaps I wanted to see you as you see me, and I borrowed Medoc's eyes to do it.”

“And what did you see?”

“Someone who will always be enough for me, and someone I love no matter what he needs or wants or refuses.”

Crowley's throat tightened, and slowly, he started to believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -What the fuck. This was supposed to be 3000 words of smut. I really hope the rest of you think that exposition and emotional fumbling is foreplay because apparently I do. I thought I knew where this story was going. Didn't.
> 
> -Aziraphale: You KICK Crowley? You kick his body like the football?!
> 
> -Basically, you have Crowley digging up what's basically Aziraphale's hookup, presenting him to Aziraphale in a kink context and then wondering if he's beginning to dig him a little himself. And if you've ever been involved in a queer/kink scene in a midsize town, maybe that sounds a little more familiar than it should. 
> 
> -Okay, I guess I just live in the bad kink tag. It's fine. I have a little house here now. There's some white peacocks.
> 
> -Does anyone else wonder if demons find sweet, romantic sex to incredibly kinky? No? Just me?
> 
> -This fic was fun but tiring to write; I'm beginning to think it's not the fic but the time of year.

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